Chuck is the author of the published novels: Blackbirds, Mockingbird, Under the Empyrean Sky, Blue Blazes, Double Dead, Bait Dog,Dinocalypse Now, Beyond Dinocalypse and Gods & Monsters: Unclean Spirits. He also the author of the soon-to-be-published novels: The Cormorant, Blightborn (Heartland Book #2), Heartland Book #3, Dinocalypse Forever, Frack You, and The Hellsblood Bride. Also coming soon is his compilation book of writing advice from this very blog: The Kick-Ass Writer, coming from Writers Digest.

He, along with writing partner Lance Weiler, is an alum of the Sundance Film Festival Screenwriter’s Lab (2010). Their short film, Pandemic, showed at the Sundance Film Festival 2011, and their feature film HiM is in development with producers Ted Hope and Anne Carey. Together they co-wrote the digital transmedia drama Collapsus, which was nominated for an International Digital Emmy and a Games 4 Change award.

Chuck has contributed over two million words to the game industry, and was the developer of the popular Hunter: The Vigil game line (White Wolf Game Studios / CCP). He was a frequent contributor to The Escapist, writing about games and pop culture.

Much of his writing advice has been collected in various writing- and storytelling-related e-books.

He currently lives in the forests of Pennsyltucky with wife, two dogs, and tiny human.

He is likely drunk and untrustworthy. This blog is NSFW and probably NSFL.

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Chuck Wendig is a novelist, screenwriter, and game designer. This is his blog. He talks a lot about writing. And food. And pop culture. And his kid. He uses lots of naughty language. NSFW. Probably NSFL. Be advised.

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Two Sentences:
One morning you wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast, take a shower, lock the doors, turn on the car, and drive to work. You realize that you forgot your phone though, so you drive back home, walk right in and retrieve it.

Filthy sounds escaped from their throats. They growled and sniffed around, some bothered even with the touch of their own pals, but soon returned to wander. Seemed not to care about the noise of the gears.

The son, tied up, moaned and struggled in the wheelchair. The mother kept pushing him through the crowd.

Mother and son crossed the street crowded with wobbly individuals, filthy sounds escaping from their throats as they growled and sniffed around, some bothered even with the touch of their own pals, but soon returning to wander, seeming not to care about the noise of the gears.

The son, tied up, moaned and struggled in the wheelchair. The mother, tears in her eyes, kept pushing him through the crowd.

Regarding my reflection; gentle hands caressing my features with tipped fingers. They continue until reaching the bloodied hole where my nose should be. Thrust my fingers through the hole and into my mouth, I choke with gurgled laughter.

Tommy sobbed through the gag as the scalpel popped through the skin of his abdomen. His best friend Sheila spend some time rooting around inside him before glaring into his face.
“I don’t see any snakes, snails or puppy dog tails at all, liar.”